All of the AUs
by MaryandMerlin
Summary: This story will consist of AU! one-shots for various pairings and themes. Chapter 1: Ron/Pansy Rapunzel!AU / Chapter 2: Sirius War!AU / Chapter 3: Angelina CivilRights!AU / Chapter 4: Lavender LittleRed!AU
1. Let Down You Hair

**Author's Note: Hey there old readers and new! This is a one-shot as well as the first chapter of my new collection of AU!s so every chapter in this will be set in an alternate Universe, most likely set for me by Sophie's Bookshop Challenge or the Insane Historical!AU challenge. So I hope you enjoy this as well as the rest of the chapters :)**

 **Prompts:**

 **Bookshop Challenge: Fairytales Book 6 - Rapunzel. (AU) Rapunzel!AU; (location) Tower; (object) Yellow Flower; (plot theme) Mother/Wife is gravely ill; (dialogue) "Let down your hair."; (word) Silk**

 **QLFC Round 7: Write about S. S. Golden Embers - Ron/Pansy**

 **Hogwarts Assignments: Herbology (Assignment 1) Write about someone bringing a change to a person's cold heart. Extra Prompts: (dialogue) "Why is it always me?"**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise!**

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Let Down Your Hair

There was a throbbing in the darkness, it was deep-rooted and constant. Ron struggled against it, longing to submerge himself back in the oblivion of sleep, but the pain wouldn't let him. It tugged and tugged, drawing him slowly but surely back into consciousness. His body woke up faster than his mind, and as he began to shake off the grogginess of sleep he became slowly aware that he wasn't in his bed in the castle, but rather in a chair. A chair he couldn't escape.

His body reacted to this news. As his muscles jumped and strained, his eyes flew open at the bite of rough ropes cutting into the soft skin of his wrists. The room was dark, all the windows had been covered, but he could just make out hazy shapes surrounding him, though he had no idea what they were.

Ron let his head drop forward as a familiar feeling stole over him. "Why, why is it always me?" His mother, his poor mother, was always lamenting at his inability to keep out of trouble. She always joked that he would be the death of her. Perhaps he would be.

He groaned as the throbbing in his head picked up speed. He searched the black parts of his memory, trying to pick out the events that had brought him to this place. He remembered being in the forest, searching for that damned flower, and then…singing? A tower? It was too faint and blurred, whatever, or whoever, had hit him on the head had done a good job of putting him out.

A thought occurred, and he squinted around the room. The windows had been mostly covered, and despite the little light that still leaked through, there was no hope of discerning what time of day it was. He had no idea how long he had been out for, hours, maybe even a whole day if he was unlucky. He didn't know how much time his mother had left. Maybe she had gone already.

Ron was distracted from his morbid thoughts by a rustle in the darkness. He snapped his head up, ignoring the stab of pain, and squinted into the shadows but could see nothing. Behind him, the sound of feet padded on the floorboards and there was a quiet whisper, like the trailing of silk. He struggled in his chair but couldn't turn towards the sound.

"Who's there?" he demanded, twisting as far as he could go. The feet padded closer, and Ron couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman who was coming for him. Ron struggled, panicking, but stopped when the flat blade of a knife was pressed against his throat.

The blade wasn't as sharp as it could have been, so this wasn't a practiced mercenary, and the hand that held the blade was decidedly delicate and feminine. He opened his mouth to speak but the blade pressed further into his throat and he cut off.

"Who are you?" she hissed. "Who sent you here?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but choked, his eyes flicking down to indicate the knife. She eased up the pressure but didn't move the knife and Ron began. "No one sent me, I swear, well not here at least. I'm looking for something for my mother. She's sick and, well, no one can do anything for her, but there are rumours about a flower, a magical flower. It sounds stupid, but it's the last hope."

"Don't lie to me," she warned, but her grip slackened slightly on the knife. Ron was sure he was saying the right sort of thing. "I haven't seen any _magic flower_ ," he chafed against the slight mocking tone in her voice, "and I certainly haven't seen anyone poking around here before, so why did you come to my tower?"

Ron shook his head lightly, "I don't know." Her grip tightened. "What I mean to say, is that I don't remember. Someone hit me rather hard on the head and my memory has gone funny, I think there was singing?"

"Singing," she murmured.

"I just know that I have to find this flower, if it even exists, and save my poor mother."

Ron sensed her hesitation, her momentary distraction, and he pounced. Loathe as he was to hurt a woman, Ron threw the bulk of his weight backwards, rocking the chair violently and ploughing into the young woman behind him. She cried out in surprise and pain, dropping the knife and falling to the floor.

Ron caught the knife in his outstretched hand and manoeuvred the blade into position to cut the rope that bound his hands to the arms of the chair. He was quick and well-practiced at such things from years of war games with his brothers, and with one arm free, it was far easier to free the other and his feet. Very soon he was standing as the girl picked herself up, and this time he was armed.

She was such a tiny thing that he was amazed she had the strength in her to knock him out. So slight a strong wind might send her tumbling, with pale skin and big dark eyes she was really quite striking. Though it wasn't her delicate features that held his attention, rather the mounds and mounds of thick, long hair that hung from her head and criss-crossed the room behind her, fading into the shadows.

She looked up at him, something akin to fear painting her features, but her eyes held nothing but defiance. "Well?" she demanded. "What are you waiting for?" Her hands curled into fists, clutching at the folds of her skirt.

Ron looked at her, and then at the knife in his hand. Her gaze seemed rooted to the weapon and he understood. "Listen, I have no intention of hurting you. I don't know how, or why I ended up in here, but I just want to leave, to go and to help my mother. No one needs to hurt anyone." Her eyes flew to him, quickly searching his face looking like a frightened deer.

"I don't believe you. I attacked you and I tied you up, I hit you in the head with a broom actually-"

"A broom, really? I didn't realise they hurt so much."

"-what do you get out of not tying me up, or even killing me?"

"I'm not in the habit of attacking unarmed young girls. Now, I'm going to put this knife down, and we're going to talk. Can you promise me you aren't going to attack me?" Ron held her heavy gaze until, reluctantly, she nodded. Slowly, he placed the knife on the floor and it clunked onto the wooden panels. He stood up, his hands spread as if placating an animal about to balk. "Now, my name is Ron. What's yours?"

"Pansy," she muttered sullenly.

"Nice to meet you, Pansy. You have, erm, lovely hair." He ignored the look of disbelief that etched her face and continued on. "Surely we can help each other here, Pansy. I want to help my mother, there must be something you want too?"

"Out!" she said without missing a heartbeat. She straightened and her eyes lit at the prospect. For a second he was confused, mistaking her meaning as ordering him to leave. "I want out of this awful prison. Do you know, you're the first real person I've seen other than my mother?"

Ron looked at this girl and considered her in a new light. She was cold and ruthless and tough, but that might just be because she had never known companionship, or love. He had 6 other siblings, it was hard to get a word in edgeways but he had never been alone.

"I can tell you about the flower?" she offered.

"You said you didn't know about any flower," Ron countered suspicion clouding his heart.

"No," she corrected, looking slightly sheepish. "I said I'd never seen the flower, but I think I know the one you're looking for. My mother is always going on about the magic flower when she thinks I'm not listening. She comes back with bright yellow petals and boils them into a tea for herself every few weeks. I don't know what it's for, but it might be just what you need?"

Ron felt the first stirrings of hope in his chest, much as he tried to clamp down on them. He pictured his mother as she was now, wasting away in her bed with barely the energy to breathe. He needed this, they needed this. "So you want out of here, and in return, you'll lead me to this flower?"

Pansy nodded enthusiastically, lighting up inside. She started to fidget as if the excitement were too much and she needed to get moving right now. "Okay, deal. Now, how do we get out of here."

"We climb!" she exclaimed rushing past him, tugging down a blanket strung across the window and throwing the shutters wide. A foggy memory of crawling through those shutters danced across his memory. He looked around for a rope. "No, silly," she giggled, surprising Ron with the carefree almost childish sound, "my hair."

Ron stalked into the darkened shadows and scooped up a great mass of blonde hair. He carried the tangled mess over to Pansy, who was still by the window, and dumped it in her arms as she grinned up at him. "Well then Pansy," he smiled down at her, "let down your hair."

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 **Please leave a review!**

 **Much Love, MaryandMerlin x**


	2. Civil War

**Author's Note: Okay, so this particular chapter is based on a Historical event, namely the Vietnam war. Now! Being from the UK we aren't taught about this so I really have no idea what happened. From what I have read on the internet, I have decided to go with the whole versus thing but no particulars. I don't really want to offend anyone and I have just written the chapter to the best of my ability. I'm not saying light side and dark side. I was just given the Vietnam War as one of my prompts and have tried to write it thusly!**

 **Prompts:**

 **Historical!AU Challenge:**

 **52\. Vietnam War**

 **Pixel Dungeon:**

 **Depth Three: This is a normal depth.**

 **Hogwarts Assignments:**

 **Muggle Studies: Write about two warring branches of the same family. Extra Prompts: (family) 2 branches of the Black family; (word) War; (word) Family; (emotion) Anger; (emotion) Determination**

 **Chocolate Frog Card Challenge:**

 **Wendelin the Weird (Silver) - Write about someone who enjoys giving or receiving pain.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognise!**

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Civil War

Sirius knew, he had always known, that he was different. It was simply confirmed when he went to Hogwarts at the age of 11, that he did not belong in the Black family. Right now, in the midst of this 'family meeting', Sirius sat, sulking in the far corner of the front room of his childhood home. He ignored the assembled Blacks and stared hard at the muggles playing in the street, wishing, not for the first time, that he were one of them.

"Are you listening, boy?" his mother demanded, her haughty tone grating against his nerves. Sirius threw her a grimace in answer and returned to gazing out the window. It was almost impossible not to listen. Bellatrix stood, bright eyed and excitement, in the centre of the room. She, like the rest of Slytherin house, was being slowly brainwashed with a diet of hate, prejudice and cruelty all in the name of some guy calling himself _Lord Voldemort_.

"You should hear him," she gushed, looking more feminine than Sirius had ever seen her. Her eyes were feverish and she looked mad, as well as sounding it. "He is so charming, so willing, so inspiring. He talks of our freedom. He will lead the pureborn witches and wizards of this world out of the darkness muggles have cast over us and into our rightful places. We will once again stand united and crush those who dare to oppose us!"

Sirius looked towards his younger brother, Regulus. He sat on the edge of his seat, eyes bright and full of awe. He was half way to signing up for this army, and the boy was only 12. "I think he sounds like just the sort of leader we need, mama," Regulus pipes up. He sounds so young, so innocent.

"Yeah, he sounds like a real peach," Sirius muttered.

Walberga glared at her eldest son, but turned to smile proudly down at her youngest. "Thank Merlin one of my sons was born with sense! We need to crush these muggleborn upstarts now, whilst we can. They should be rounded up and killed, executed even. If this Voldemort has any sense himself he will make a spectacle of them, one I would be more than happy to attend."

Sirius listened, quietly, to the spew of violence and hatred tumbling from the lips of his family. Bellatrix was his biggest fan, and she was doing a fine job of convincing the rest. He could feel the shift in the air, when it became more than just talk. War was coming, bloodthirsty and devastating. He wasn't going to be forced one to the wrong side.

"You know," he said quietly stunning Bellatrix into silence. "I had hoped, once, to fit into this family, but as I sit here and listen to you talk about killing these human beings as if they were nothing more than flies I know that can never be. There is a better way, one without violence and hatred." Sirius laced his voice with quiet anger and determination and turned to look his mother in the eye. "You are selling your souls, and your sons, to the devil mother. Think about that."

He hadn't expected his words to have any affect, but he couldn't have lived with himself if he hadn't said something. Walberga opened her mouth and drew in a deep breath, no doubt ready to spew hatred and shame at him, but Sirius ignored her and walked to the door.

"Where are you going?" she barked.

"Out, mother," he replied. "And I won't be coming back."

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 **Please leave a review!**

 **Much Love, MaryandMerlin x**


	3. All the World's a Stage

**Author's Note: So this is my attempt at completing the assignment and the prompt. I'm British so we were never really taught about Rosa Parks beyond the basics and so please excuse any inaccuracies. It's just a story not meant to offer an opinion or be offensive.**

 **Historical!AU Challenge:**

 **61 - American Civil Rights Movement**

 **Music Assignment:**

 **Option 3 - Write about a beginning**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise!**

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All the World's a Stage

Angelina felt the weariness in her bones as she dropped on to the bus seat. It was the last in her section and she felt grateful shoots of relief tremble in her muscles as her legs were relieved of their burden.

She glanced towards the window, smiling briefly at the woman next to her, and watched as the rain ran in rivulets down the window. The storm had come from nowhere, but it had come thick and fast. Each rattle of wind held the thick bite of winter and sleet stuck to the windows where the rain had nearly frozen.

Angelina relaxed back into the seat, allowing the warmth to seep into her and closed her eyes. The bus ride home was now an hour long and she was prepared to enjoy every second of it.

For twenty blissful moments nothing out of the ordinary happened. Angelina had let her head drop forward and was dozing peacefully after the long day of shop work. She heard the familiar roar of the engine as it settled down into the stop and the shuck and hiss as the door opened. She only half heard the quiet hum of the passengers as they boarded and continued to doze peacefully.

"Y'all better make it light on yourselves and let me have those seats."

Angelina jerked forward in her seat to see the driver standing in the middle of the row. It took her a few drowsy moments to realise that he was addressing her row, an impatient look on his face. She glanced around, taking in the few white passengers who were standing, and the fact that the coloured section sign had been moved back a row and she sighed.

She knew, without looking, that the rest of the seats in her section were full, but had to ignore the silent protests of her weary body as she picked up her bags and stood with the rest of the people in her row.

"Why don't you stand up?"

Angelina turned, ready to inform the bus driver that she was moving and would do so in her own sweet time, when she realised that he wasn't speaking to her, or even looking at her. Rather, his narrowed eyes were fixed on the woman in the seat next to Angelina, who was indeed still sat down.

Angelina watched, a mixture of fear, pride and a little self-shame stirring in her heart, as the woman stared up at the bus driver determination written all over her face. She lifted her chin, looked him in the eye and shrugged delicately, clutching her purse in her lap.

"I don't think I should have to stand up."

The reverent hush that had fallen over the bus and its passengers filled with unspoken tension as the battle of wills raged between the driver and the seated passenger. White women whispered quickly to each other, murmuring their shock and disgust whilst those at the back of the bus sat torn between encouraging or containing their coloured sister.

"Well," the driver said quietly, his voice a measured silk over steel, "if you don't stand up, I'm going to have to call the police."

Angelina looked back to the woman, her head snapping as if watching a tennis match, but the woman still did not move. She looked at the bus driver calmly and simply said, "you may do that," before turning to look out the window.

Angelina felt her mouth drop open and murmurs of frantic conversation broke out across the bus. She watched as the driver stared hard at her for a few moments longer before storming down to the front of the bus, presumably to call the police. The woman continued to look serenely out of the window, awaiting her fate, her profile highlighted by the bright lights of the Empire Theatre.

Angelina knew, in her heart, that this was the start of something big.

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 **Please leave a review!**

 **Much Love, MaryandMerlin x**


	4. All the Better

**Author's Note: So, here we are continuing the slight fairytale theme that I have going on here! Hope you enjoy!**

 **Bookshop**

 **Fairytales, Book 2 - Little Red Riding Hood**

 **Prompts: (AU) Little Red Riding Hood, (creature) Werewolf, (word) Innocent, (object) Food Basket**

 **Care of Magical Creatures**

 **Write about someone taking excessive precautions to protect themselves against something that others would find strange.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise**

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All the Better

Lavender paced happily down the lane, ignoring the way the loose stones dug into her delicately shod feet. The red, velvet slippers were far from practical, especially with their thin soles, but Lavender had chosen them to match the special cloak her grandmother had made her. She wanted to make sure her Granny knew just how grateful she was for the long, red, hooded cloak.

Lavender liked to keep her mind busy on these walks, she examined the way the sun dappled on the leaves of the trees, turning a simple leaf into a kaleidoscope of green. She stopped to pick flowers and watch bunnies and listen to the sound of birdsong in the trees. Lavender took the time to bask in the beautiful day, eyes closed as she twirled along the path, her red cloak fanning out around her.

She began to hum, the deeper she went, singing wordless songs to herself to keep company. She didn't know why her grandmother insisted on living so far away from the town, but mother had said she was sick and sent Lavender down the beaten track with a basket full of homemade remedies and goodies.

She tried not to notice the way the temperature dropped around her, that the trees went from luscious green to dried brown, that the sun didn't shine so brightly and that the sweet sound of birdsong became the rustle and crackle of larger, scarier animals moving through the undergrowth.

After several, tense moments the little cottage came into view and Lavender let out a breath, picking up her pace until she was nearly running. She skidded to a quick halt three paces from the wooden steps that led up to the front door. Glancing around quickly she picked up the hem of her skirts and stepped over the thin wire that stretched from tree to tree.

Oddly enough, her Grandmother had the whole place rigged from all sides. As if she were afraid of something larger and more intelligent than the little animals that lived in the forest around them. Sure there were bears and wolves, but even they knew to stay away from a human home. Lavender had always meant to ask her Grandmother what exactly it was that she was so afraid of, but she always bottled it, more than a little afraid of hearing the answer.

After ducking another wire, hoping the second step and avoiding the trick panel in front of the door Lavender used the spare key her mother had given her to let herself into the quaint, single story cottage. She gently closed the door behind her and pushed the heavy crimson hood off her head, shaking her golden locks out behind her.

"Grandmother?" she called softly, moving further into the hall, cautious not to wake the frail old woman if she was sleeping. The entrance hall was sparsely furnished, a colourful rug, a small table with some dying flowers and a lamp. The walls were bare of all art but when Lavender looked closer at the wood of the doorways she could see that they were covered in intricately carved runes.

Her Grandmother's second line of defence.

Lavender scoffed a little at the notion of magic and passed it off as the superstitious habits of an old woman, alone and afraid. She decided to make more of an effort to visit her Grandmother, despite her remote location.

Carefully she crept into the kitchen and placed the pies and bread her mother had sent her with into the big pantry cupboard to keep them fresh. A big pot bubbled merrily over the fire and some sort of meaty soup seemed to be cooking in there. Lavender skirted the fireplace, picked up the basket with the medicine and shut the door to the kitchen behind her. She quickly popped her head into the sitting room but it, too, was empty. Her Grandmother's blanket was folded neatly on her chair, her glasses perched on top of a closed book and nothing seemed out of place.

That left the final door and as Lavender crept round into her Grandmother's bedroom the first thing she noticed was the odd smell. The room was hot and the air was heavy, the fire was banked up high and the blankets were piled on the figure in the bed that had to be her Grandmother. But the smell, it was sweet but sharp, she could almost taste it in the back of her throat. She wanted to choke on it, but there was no other air to breathe, it must have been the smell of illness.

"Grandmother?"

The blankets stirred and Lavender moved closer. "Is that you, dear?"

Her voice was frail but it was undeniably her grandmother. Lavender breathed a sigh of relief and went right up to the side of the bed. Her grandmother had the covers pulled right up to her chin and a lace nightcap pulled right down over her head so the only part of her visible was her pale and wrinkled face.

Lavender frowned. "Oh Grandmother, you look so ill, and you must be so cold if the room is so hot. I can see how pale you look and oh, your eyes are all swollen, they're so big!"

Her grandmother blinked her clear blue eyes at Lavender, the picture of innocence. "Why, it's all the better to see your beautiful face with my dear."

Lavender laughed and gently tucked a stray curl of snowy white hair back into the frilly laced cap. As she did she knocked it up and exposed her ear. She gasped. "Oh Grandmother, what an illness, your ears are so big and swollen too, and they're all hairy. Wait, it isn't contagious is it?"

"Oh no, my dear, it just means I can hear that sweet voice all the clearer. Won't you sing for me, darling girl?"

And so, Lavender opened her mouth and began to sing, stroking a soothing hand over the brow of her head. As she sang Lavender felt the skin beneath her fingers, it was warm and smooth but it felt more like the fur of a dog than the soft, weary skin of an old woman.

She looked down at her grandmother as she finished her song and the old woman smiled, wide and toothy. Lavender gasped, "oh my. Grandmother, what big teeth you have!"

The blankets began to heave as the woman started to sit up, causing Lavender to stumble backwards. As she watched the pale skin became black fur flecked with grey and the blue eyes changed shape, the nose grew and the lips curled back to reveal rows of sharp, pointed teeth.

Her Grandmother, the wolf, chuckled a low, raspy, growling sound that sent shivers right through Lavender. "Well my dear, like I told your Grandmother. They make it much easier, to eat you with!"

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 **Please leave a review!**

 **Much Love, MaryandMerlin x**


	5. The Princess

**A/N: So, I have sort of been doing this fic on and off. It currently consists of 3 parts and there will be a 4th, just when I get round to it. I do highly recommend that you read parts one and two from my profile. They are:**

 **The Queen**

 **The Huntsman**

 **Prompts**

 **Monthly One-Shot September:**

 **Pairing: Hermione/Draco**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Prompt: (word) rudimentary**

 **Sophie's Bookshop:**

 **(AU) Snow White!AU**

 **(object) Poisonous Apple**

 **(location) A forest**

 **Hogwarts's Assignment:**

 **Divination:**

 **Write about a character searching for something important.**

 **Disclaimer:** **I don't own anything that you recognise!**

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The Princess

A shot rang out, followed by the sharp sound of metal on wood. Splinters erupted and a pale white mark of open flesh marred the tree only slightly to the right of her head. Hermione loosed a breath that she didn't realise she had been holding, but her body remained tense. She stared across the clearing at Regulus, his hand shook violently, the smoking metal contraption still gripped in his raised hand, but he held her gaze. His dark eyes gave nothing away even as his face contorted in agony.

She did not know if he had missed deliberately. She did not know if he still meant to take her life. She did not know what hold, what leverage the Queen had over him, or even why, now, her step-mother should want her dead.

The silence drew on, the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. It felt stupid that her mind should fixate on the burning in her knees, from the prolonged crouching, but it felt in that moment like the worst pain she had ever endured.

"Go."

The word was so soft, so rasped that Hermione wasn't sure that it hadn't simply been a whisper on the breeze but Regulus had closed his eyes tight, and the weapon he held was not raised quite so high. Hermione opened her mouth, startled, questioning sounds pouring forth with no direction or comprehension.

"GO!"

Though her mind was still struggling to catch up, Hermione's body reacted to the order. Her aching knees shot straight and she rose, turning immediately on her heel and fleeing into the dark forest around her.

Behind her, a second shot rang out.

X

Hermione was half hysterical, half crazy by the time she stumbled out of the thick of the forest. She had never been there alone, never strayed from the path and it had not taken her long to get completely lost. Now as she tumbled beyond the tree line, landing hard on bruised knees and scrapped hands she looked less a princess and more a monster. Her hair was ripped from it's plait, wild and unkept with twigs and leaves and a bug or two thrown in, her dress, once beautiful, was now caked in mud, smeared with blood and the hem and sleeves were in tatters.

But that was the least of her worries.

She was a princess, a gently bred young lady with no real knowledge of the outside world. She had been guided and pampered for years to the extent that she barely knew how to feed herself never mind catch and cook something. Her stomach was empty, everything hurt and the adrenaline soaked fear was beginning to drain into a weariness that threatened to overwhelm her.

Where would she go? How would she survive? Had Regulus spared her only for her to starve to death? To be eaten by wild animals, or wander off a cliff in her exhausted state.

Hermione lay there, on the ground, for a few more moments before attempting to gather herself together once more. She pushed herself up off the ground and pushed the nagging hunger and haunting questions to one side. One foot in front of the other, that was all she had to do. She would find food and shelter, she would. She just had to keep positive and keep looking.

Hermione walked, or rather staggered, for a few minutes longer, when her diligence and hope finally paid off. Out of seemingly nowhere, dappled with sunlight, appeared the most charming cottage she had ever seen. Flowers burst from every patch of grass and a gurgling little stream rushed merrily past. The cottage itself was white washed, with big thick beams and a thatched roof.

Her heart leapt at the sight and a feeling of peace and tranquillity stole over her as she rushed for the cottage. She found the door was not locked and Hermione, never having been denied anything before in her life, simply walked in.

Hermione did not care that the cottage was simple and sparse, that the appliances seemed rudimentary at best. She did not register the seven little chairs around the large fireplace, or the seven seats at the old wooden table. She didn't see the seven iron hooks on the wall beside the staircase, or even register that there were seven beds in the single room upstairs. Hermione was so tired, and so relieved, that she simply lay down and fell straight to sleep.

X

It was odd, she found, to wake up surrounded by seven little men, with long white beards and big hats. They looked like children, all wide eyed, but they spoke and acted like adults. It had taken awhile, and been quite surreal, as she sat on the bed and told them all the tale of her dance with death, but they had mostly been understanding, even welcoming.

Hermione had offered to help, to pay her way, though they all seemed too shy to ask a princess to do anything. However, Hermione felt comfortable here and insisted that they show her how to cook and clean so that she might have something to do during the day whilst they were out in the mines.

Albus was obviously the leader, his beard was the longest and Hermione supposed her might be the oldest, though there was no real way of telling. His right-hand man seemed to be a dwarf named Kingsley but other than that there didn't seem to be a hierarchy. Horace, Alastor, Filius and Rubeus all seemed friendly enough, eager to have her there, despite Alastor being more than a little rough around the edges, but there was only one who obviously didn't like her. His name was Aberforth, and Hermione wasn't sure if his problem was with her or life in general, but she decided to just let him get on with it.

It had been nearly a month now, since Hermione had fled the awful fate her once loving stepmother had decided for her. Almost a month since she had come to live with this quirky bunch of little men and she found that she settled into domestic life quite easily. A stew was bubbling away happily on the stove, the dishes were washed, the floor had been swept and she was now arranging some freshly picked flowers in a tankard that she had repurposed as a vase.

Yes, everything was coming along quite swimmingly, when a knock sounded at the door.

Hermione jerked slightly, but she did not react with fear or suspicion. She had an honest, trusting heart and a naivety that was more than dangerous for her health. She smiled, assuming that her little housemates had returned home early and went to open the door for them, but as the small, time worn door swung open it revealed an old crone with a soft smile.

Hermione was momentarily shocked at the sight of another face, she had not seen any one pass by these parts, but she had been raised with impeccable manners and recovered quickly.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh my dear," the crone simpered, limping away from the door, drawing Hermione out into the open as she did so. "I was just passing through, having gotten quite lost in the forest, when I twisted my ankle on a gnarled old root. I was hoping you might spare me a glass of water before I am on my way?"

Hermione started, realising that there was something she could do to help, and rushed back into the cool interior of the cottage. The crone shambled over to a tree stump and sat down, the soft smile still on her time worn face, a wicked glint in her milky eyes. The young, beautiful princess emerged from the cottage, radiance pouring from her, a small earthen cup clutched in one hand. She did not see the sneer that curled the wrinkled face, or the hatred in her shaking fists and by the time Hermione had reached her visitor the woman seemed as harmless as ever.

She took a long sip, slurping loudly. "Well, aren't you so kind," she smiled at the princess, "and so pretty too."

Hermione blushed.

"I would like to repay your kindness, dear girl. A gift."

Hermione raised her hands and shook her head. "Oh, but there is absolutely no need. I am more than happy to offer any assistance I can-"

"Nonsense, I will not hear of you going unrewarded. Please, it would insult me if you denied me the honour."

As Hermione considered, and relented, the woman drew an apple forth from the folds of her cloak. It was a deep, juicy red. Perfectly formed. The skin glinted in the light and Hermione found herself salivating at the mere sight of it. Entranced she reached forward, taking the apple from the old woman. "Well, if you insist," she murmured, distracted. "I suppose it is only fair."

"Yes, it is my dear. Why don't you have a bite?"

Hermione glanced up at the woman, something in her tone struck a chord in her and for the first time uncertainty stirred in her chest. But, for all the world to see, there was nothing amiss. So Hermione accepted the encouraging smile and opened her mouth, drawing the apple closer.

Ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart, and the shiver down her spine despite the sunny day, Hermione took a bite.

* * *

 **Please leave a review, let me know if you want part 4!**

 **Much Love, MaryandMerlin x**


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